A Letter to Zero
You've got mail.
Gotta sing, sing, and yeah, kid, you deserve it, special after all those cab rides and arguments. All that waiting. Still, leave a skosh out. Know to know your audience.
Save the toilet humor for those who’ve pissed themselves laughing alongside you. Keep the locker room talk to the dugout, the cash bar.
Shower when you smell, wash your hands twice – wear the perfume of good manners. It’ll never be easy, but it can be smooth. Though it’s d’bumps’at make the humor — without em you’ll start to pick on others, wax nostalgic, and desert your younger self, the dreamer who wrote all over his Converse with pretty good ideas.
Put em all in a poem, a Notes app confessional, an eleven-leg parlay of verisimilitude. See what sticks and hope they understand – at least, resonate.
Be a mercenary. Talk with your hands and show up and down who they messed with, or shouldn’t have messed with, or could easily mess with. Size yourself up.
Brag about your diet, even if it’s just crab meat and racetrack crackers. Drink a lot. Don’t smoke at all, unless it’s in your dreams with your boss’s son — who knows what favors he could pull at that stadium? It’s time to be honest and start lying.